His Fierce Lycan Luna novel Chapter 32

KYSON

As we step into the room, Azalea growls as the fresh linen scent overwhelms her. Trey rushes into the room behind me, looking alert despite having not slept in two days.

“What is it?” Trey says behind me. I watch as Azalea moves toward the bed, sniffing the air.

“Nothing. Liam had Clarice clean everything in here. It smells wrong to her,” I tell him. Trey sighs. The only lingering scents are Gannon, Dustin’s, and Peter’s, who must have helped oversee everything because I forgot Gannon couldn’t come with us because of her command over him.

“Okay, as long as everything is alright.”

“Go to bed, Trey. Try to sleep before the sun comes up. She is safe with me,” I tell him. He nods and reluctantly leaves. I find his bond to her odd, but now trust him because I am seeing what an advantage we have with him being able to sense her so clearly.

Azalea growls, fixing her den as she destroys the sheets. She raids the closet, trying to find clothes with my scent, and I step inside behind her as she snatches stuff off the hangers.

Tears trek down her face as she sniffs each piece. They aren’t supposed to touch my stuff. I hoped they would have left a few pieces, knowing how savage she may become once her den was ruined. She tosses them down in frustration and rips more off the hanger, sniffing each one when I grab her arms.

“Hush, you don’t need my scent when you have me. We can fix it,” I tell her when she spins around, her eyes glowing, and she looks crazed. Her eyes run over me as she sniffs me and licks her lips. I groan in frustration. I like this suit too! When she looks me over from head to toe, I back away from her.

“Wait, Azzy. I will take them off, and I will climb in your den with you. Please don’t—” she pounces on me, cutting my words off as her claws slip out. I catch her, my arms slipping around her waist as her legs lock around my hips. I sigh.

Damn it.

Her claws rip at my clothes, and I purr, trying to calm her frantic instincts as I turn around and move toward the bed. My suit jacket she has claimed and my shirt as buttons go flying as she tears it to shreds. I love and hate seeing her like this. Hate how vulnerable she becomes in this state, all instinct, yet love seeing her go crazy over my scent, knowing that is what she seeks.

“I really liked that suit,” I mutter, placing her on the bed as her teeth sink into my chest. She licks me, and sparks explode across my skin. I press her into the clean linens earning a snarl as she lets me go and rolls, taking my clothes with her. She rearranges them in her den, duck feathers going everywhere as she rips a pillow apart.

“No, you have my shirt and jacket,” I tell her or what is left of them. She whimpers, the sound crushing as she stares at my pants.

“I will lie in your den until you’re satisfied, but the pants I am keeping,” I tell her, determined to keep them. She just shredded a suit that cost me a damn fortune. Her bottom lip quivers. Damn pregnancy hormones are making her wild. I pull my belt out of the loops while cursing, slipping them down my legs and stepping out of them. I grab and hold them out to her, and she snatches them, rolling them into her den.

She won’t be satisfied. I know that. My scent is still faint in the sheets, why is my scent so faint still? I hate seeing her so distraught with instincts she barely understands.

She growls at me when I press my hands onto the bed. “Where do you want me, then?” I ask, not wanting to ruin her den until she has it the way she prefers. Her breathing becomes harsher. It is dangerous to go into a Lycan den or near a frantic pregnant Lycans den. You don’t touch or change it, especially scents not belonging to the mate. It’s their cocoon of safety, and other scents are intruders.

Azalea grips her hair in frustration. The moment I kneel into her den, instant regret hits me when I realize how not a speck of our scent is in here. Whoever polished and cleaned this room would hear about it. They know better, and this is now becoming a problem as she suddenly starts clawing and ripping at her clothes, her hair, the lack of our mingled scents and cloying scent of bleach I can smell radiating out of the bathroom is sending her mad.

I open the mindlink, searching for Dustin, Gannon, and Clarice. They all answer simultaneously, ‘Yes, my King.’

‘Who the fuck cleaned the room and bleached the bathroom?’ I demand.

Clarice gasps, and I know it wouldn’t be her. She wouldn’t be stupid enough.

‘We changed the sheets and removed her clothes and the curtains like you asked,’ Dustin answers.

‘Then why would you wash all of my clothes?’ I growl. They could have at least left some of those.

‘We replaced them with the ones from your office. They are covered in your scent, and we used gloves,’ Gannon answers.

‘Who else was in this room?’

‘No one, just us and Peter when he came up to drop food off.’

‘So no one else has been in here?’ I ask, gripping Azalea’s hands as she pulls her hair out.

‘I have some of your clothes here that I haven’t washed yet. I will bring them up,’ Clarice says, slipping from the link.

‘No one else should have been up there. We shut the doors to your quarters after we were done,’ Dustin answers.

‘Well, someone has been because all I can smell is chemicals and bleach, and all my clothes in the closet smell fresh out of the press,’ I tell them.

‘Is she alright?’ they ask.

‘What do you think? Someone stripped her entire den. Even the mattress smells like chemicals,’ I snarl, pushing into her den when she claws her face. I cut the link off abruptly as I press my knee between her thighs, forcing her onto her back. I press my body against hers. My calling slips out instantly as I bear my weight on my arms so I don’t crush her belly. Her breathing evens out, and she licks my chest, answering my call.

“Shh, love. I will fix it,” I purr, nuzzling her neck, and she moans. My teeth nip at her mark, and her legs fall open more, allowing me to press between her thighs. Her body is languid beneath me as she gives in to the calling. I run my tongue over her neck and jaw, across her cheek, where she cut her face with her claws, healing it.

‘No, everyone was helping, then Dustin and I went and got something to eat quickly, and I checked Abbie,’ Gannon answers.

‘Clarice?’ I ask her, knowing she is listening in.

‘Same with me. After I finished eating, I checked the door and it was still shut, and I smelt no scents up there.”

‘Where did Peter go?’ I ask.

‘He was with me until just before dinner and then slipped out the back to feed the horses, returned the same way 20 minutes later when we were finishing up,’ Clarice answers.

‘Can anyone verify he was down there?’

‘Yes, because he came back with the gardener who helped him,’ Clarice tells me. I sigh and shake my head.

‘This is getting ridiculous,’ I mutter.

‘And nothing else happened that was odd?’ I ask them.

‘No, Abbie went into town and picked up fruit and veg with Clarice,’ Gannon says.

‘When?’

‘This morning. But Abbie wouldn’t have done that. She loves Azalea,’ Gannon defends his future mate.

‘I know that. I’m just trying to think of who had access to the room.’

‘Just us, no one has been up here without signing in and out, and the only time we left, we ensured the floor was clear, and I just checked the cameras in the hall and nothing. Peter came up to clean the steps. He hadn’t finished his punishment from Clarice, but he never went near the room,’ Gannon tells me.

‘Peter would never. He is just a boy, but we must be missing something,’ I tell them.

‘I will ask around,’ Dustin says, and I cut the link.